


Extinction Event

by Kami_del_Antro



Series: The Extinction Event [2]
Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Beached Things (Death Stranding), Bridge Babies (Death Stranding), Canon Compliant, DOOMS (Death Stranding), Death Stranding Spoilers, Developing Relationship, Die-Hardman - Freeform, Fragile (Death Stranding) - Freeform, Gen, Heartman (Death Stranding) - Freeform, Homo Demens (Death Stranding), Lockne (Death Stranding) - Freeform, MULEs (Death Stranding), Mama (Death Stranding) - Freeform, Original Character(s), References to Canon, Timefall (Death Stranding), Weird Plot Shit, also starring - Freeform, also-also starring, basically the man BRIDGES cast aside from Sam, deadman - Freeform, even more MULEs will be hurt during the making of this fanfic, he's busy, new territories to be explored, now the gay shit starts to become explicit gay shit, plot divergence, read Delivery Log first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28455720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kami_del_Antro/pseuds/Kami_del_Antro
Summary: One of Higgs' men now threatens the fragile peace of the eastern region of the UCA. Morrissey, bearer of impossible powers, self-proclaimed Angel of Destruction, seeks the undoing of not only the world, but one single Porter.It's up to Arlen -Legendary Porter with a dark past- and Naoise -a young, upcoming Porter who cannot die- to put a stop to his treachery. But in order to save what's left of the free world, they'll have to dive into the unknown: the wild, abandoned lands of the southeast, all the while a shadow darker than the chiral clouds looms over a condemned world... and over their own history.Sequel to Delivery Log.
Series: The Extinction Event [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084121
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	1. Dooms day

**Author's Note:**

> Aw man here we go again.
> 
> Delivery Log was more like a proof of concept - I wanted to see if these characters worked in the Death Stranding universe. When I realized that I really liked how they moved in it, I was already halfway done with the thing, so I went ahead and published it.
> 
> This fic has way more effort in it... namely, I actually gave a shit about researching and planning this time lol. Delivery Log has a lot of mistakes and inaccuracies I'll maybe go back to address someday (mostly about terminology; in my defense, my client is in spanish and a lot of the things in it are translated), but it works as a story and I wanna revisit the pocket universe I invented inside the main Death Stranding universe. Besides, this time I actually finished the game before starting writing. Yay!
> 
> This story assumes an end-to-end knowledge of the game, and will build its fiction upon that assumption. If anything's not clear enough, don't hesitate to ask! Any feedback is greatly appreciated.
> 
> BTW, Naoise belongs to the wonderful Ren-Val. Thanks for letting me pick your brain for inspiration!
> 
> Now, onto the prologue. More to follow.

Arlen shivered in the cool breeze, pressing his eyes shut, trying to keep on sleeping. But the cold was persistent, as was the saline smell of the sea. It tickled his brain. It tried to force out a memory - one he didn't want to recall.

He inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering open. Grey skies met his eyes, and the coarse texture of sand made his position on the floor uncomfortable.

So Arlen sat up, rubbing his hands, trying to get rid of the sand. But it was fine, and stuck to the crevices of the palm of his hands, and it just wouldn't let go.

 _Water_ , he thought. And so, he turned towards the soft, calm sound of waves.

Someone was there. Arlen froze in position, as the grey surroundings alerted his mind of something. He didn't recognize the place, but there was a persistent, perverse familiarity around him. Something felt familiar. Soothing, if not for the pervasive feeling of wrongness.

For a lonely figure stood at the edge of the water - dark, deep water, licking the heavy Porter boots the silhouette sported. Beckoning him deeper, perhaps. He wore a black cape, with a hood that covered his head, but even still Arlen recognized a thin, somewhat emaciated build.

A sense of dread overtook him, but the image fascinated him to the point of terrified paralysis. And the figure slowly raised their hands, pulling the hood back and revealing a mess of short auburn hair underneath.

As the figure turned, slowly, Arlen found a stripe of white in the middle of the fire of the silhouette's hair.

And he woke up with a startle, sitting up on the bed of Capital Knot City's private room.

He shook his head, looking down at his hands. They were clean, but the coarse, tingling sensation of the sand was persistent even in his waking hours.


	2. The mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first propper chapter. The mission statement, the stakes, and the very real possibility of death.
> 
> Also, the first bit of worldbuilding I'm squeezing into this canon lol
> 
> btw, Naoise's name is pronounced "Knee-sha", with the final -a sounding like one would pronounce the u- in "up". It's a neat name tbh

Arlen seemed distracted, but despite their brief time together, Naoise already knew better than to try and ask. Not only that, but he was far more preoccupied about what awaited them at the city terminal. Standing beside Arlen, who tugged at the hose that would connect him to his quasi-legal BB, he fixed the straps on his shoulders, wondering what would be next for them as a team.

So he took a deep breath, adjusting his Bridges cap and the short ponytail underneath it - his hair falling in waves now, barely brushing the base of his neck. He missed having it clean so much - no more wiry, golden mess for him, covered in chiralium and blood. But as a Porter, he knew better than to expect it to last long.

He felt Arlen's eyes on him, but as soon as he glanced his way, the elevator moved up, the blaring sound surrounding them. Arlen grunted, closing his eyes and briefly stumbling. Naoise wondered if it was the sudden noise or the fact he had just connected to the BB.

When they walked towards the terminal, a now familiar face greeted them, even if Naoise still held his breath in his presence. One never gets used to the most powerful man in the world's hologram to meet one's eyes, he supposed.

"Naoise," Die-Hardman greeted with a nod. "Excuse the lack of formalities, but your file omits any last name aside from Porter. You were found by a southern Bridges' team, correct?"

"Y-yes," Naoise mumbled, and quickly cleared his throat to answer property. "Yes, sir. I consider Bridges and the UCA to be my family, sir. That's why I chose that name."

Die-Hardman looked deep into his eyes, and Naoise felt uneasy at the scrutiny. Behind the mask, that man seemed to read him like a book, while hiding everything from him at the same time. It was chilling, in a way. Being so powerless.

"Good," the man finally stated, glancing now at Arlen. "As for you…" 

"This aint part of the job," Arlen grumbled, crossing his arms.

"Don't worry, there's no need to tell us anything," Die-Hardman explained, nodding Arlen's way with his hands clasped on his back. "Your name is Arlen Hayes, born and raised in Middle Knot City - in the UCA's foster system. Both parents killed in a work-related incident. You began your career as a Porter still underage, alongside your partner Morrissey. Shall I continue?"

Arlen's lip twitched, but he didn't move a muscle. Die-Hardman nodded once more.

"A great deal of data has been recovered, thanks to Bridges II's efforts to expand the chiral network," the man explained, glancing once again Naoise's way. "Such data help us bring our country closer, to bring our people closer. Our dream to recover what was lost, the great nation we once were, inches closer with every passing day. We take great pride in our accomplishments."

"I understand, sir," Naoise said, "But I don't get it. How is it relevant to Arlen and I?"

"Yesterday I asked you to cooperate in the search and capture of the terrorist Morrissey," Die-Hardman explained - his hologram sliding aside to reveal Morrissey's static image. Naoise noticed Arlen flinching beside him at the sight of the other man's sly smirk, and a low exclamation coming from his BB. "His actions threaten the UCA's plans. There is no way of telling how much damage he can cause if left to his own devices. We will use his former connection to Arlen to lure him out - but such a risky plan is incompatible with our goal to keep the existing chiral network secure."

Once again, Die-Hardman slid into frame.

"However, there is a way to keep the existing network safe, while furthering both of our goals at the same time," he stated. "By sending you two to the south-eastern region."

"The south-east? Florida?" Arlen grunted, uncrossing his arms. "Nothing but MULEs and BTs down there. The place's a shithole."

Naoise could've sworn Die-Hardman smirked under his mask, before waving his hand and projecting a map to Naoise's cuff link. He raised his wrist, projecting the map up and letting Arlen glance at it from over his shoulder.

"Formerly swamplands, most of Florida's coastal area is now under the sea," Die-Hardman explained. "Not to mention, a series of volcanic cataclysms changed the shape of the land, creating a mountain range on what was formerly flatlands, eliminating the lands for game herding."

Naoise followed the sharp, uneven mountain range a couple miles south from Capital City, sinking its end on the sea like the tail of a massive dragon whose spine scarred North America from side to side. Even further south, however, the land flattened to broad fields of swamplands, culminating on a small peninsula the size of a single Knot City.

"The biomes are diverse as well," Die-Hardman pointed out, zooming into the area below the mountain range. "Our latest reports indicate that the fertile volcanic land sprouted forests and wetlands, while the timefall devours at its own pace as well. The land is ever-changing. Unpredictable."

"So you want us to fuck off," Arlen spat. Die-Hardman stared at him, stoic under his mask, while Naoise gave him an alarmed look.

"What the UCA needs of you," Die-Hardman specified, "is nothing more than what you've already given us."

With a turn of his wrist, tiny, star-like lights appeared on the map. Some were up the mountains, others spread throughout the wetlands. Naoise inhaled sharply, while Arlen's lips parted at the sight. None of them had ever seen the sky above the chiralium clouds, but Naoise imagined it looked like that. Full of light. Full of the possibility of life.

"According to our latest reports by independent Porters," Die-Hardman added, "these are the last human settlements from the south-eastern coast. Most likely preparationist's bunkers. None of them responded to our envoys' messages."

At such a statement, Naoise jumped, looking back at Die-Hardman.

"But what are we supposed to do about it?" he inquired. "I’m with Bridges. I am a Bridges' Porter, after all."

"We have thought of a different approach," Die-Hardman explained, turning his wrist again to turn off the map projection. "We thought about contacting Fragile Express, but the company has other matters on its hands right now. To gain access to the bunkers, you should try to contact the independent Porters in the area. There are a couple private startups you might be interested in aiding."

"Then what?" Arlen suddenly asked, suspicious. Die-Hardman paused for a brief moment.

"Then," he proceeded, "you offer them to join the UCA."

Arlen huffed, turning around and walking away with a dismissive gesture before Naoise could stop him. He paced around the room, nervously muttering to himself with his hands on his overall's pockets, ignoring the conversation. Die-Hardman followed his movements for a moment, before addressing Naoise, who pondered his chin.

"How does one do that?" he asked. "We ask and that's it?"

"That's a part of it." Die-Hardman nodded. "Then you need to physically install the required strand."

"How…? Sir, I'm just a Porter," Naoise declared, alarmed. "I know nothing about the chiral network."

"Worry not, Naoise," Die-Hardman said. "Bridges can take care of the rest."

Once again, his hologram slid out of frame, leaving room for a slender woman to take his place. She had a tired, yet soft face; one of those faces Naoise thought about when people talked about tenderness, and her thin, straight hair was up on a ponytail, as soft strands framed the rim of glasses over her eyes.

"Hi, you must be Naoise," she greeted. Then, she blinked, frowning at him. "You're younger than I imagined."

"Hi," he clumsily greeted. "Have we met?"

"Oh, right," she said, clearing her throat. "I'm Mama. Nice to finally meet you."

She glanced at the conveyor belt beside the terminal, where an alert blared as a single, tiny case slid towards Naoise.

"To connect to the chiral network, the object one would use is a q-pid," Mama said, as Naoise grabbed the case. "However, q-pids are in short supply; hard to make, impossible to get on a chiral printer. They serve a specific purpose - connect to the network using one of the Knot Cities as a waypoint. It would be useless to your purposes, since there are no cities where you're heading."

After a brief hesitation, Naoise opened the case. At first he thought it was a dog tag, like the ones Arlen carried on his neck, but he realized it was something else. The metal was cold to the touch, but it seemed to buzz with energy as he held it up. Gravity acted strange with it as well, as it moved as if it was submerged in water rather than hanging from his hand. Upon closer inspection, Naoise realized there were some scribbles engraved on it - symbols and numbers, in combinations he couldn’t begin to understand.

"So…meet the i-ris," Mama explained, nodding at the piece. "It has a fraction of the power of a q-pid, but it's great at repeating its signals. Before the Death Stranding, there used to be something called phone signal towers. The signal bounced off towers and land masses, making it able to reach places never thought possible. It's the same principle: connect it to a bunker, and it will act as a phone signal antenna. It isn’t as stable as the real thing, but it will allow a limited number of connections and even chiral printing. It isn’t enough to print vehicles, though, so take care of those if you take one."

Naoise blinked as he held the i-ris up to his eyes, it's weird movements soothing him in a strange, primal way, before he passed it over his head and let it rest on his neck. Mama nodded in approval.

"Let me know how it works," she said. "Good luck."

Her hologram slid aside, and Die-Hardman appeared on the scene once again.

"There's one last thing you two should consider," he pointed out, as Naoise stopped staring at the liquid movements of the i-ris to look at him in the eye. "There are unconfirmed rumors of terrorist activity further south."

Naoise gave Die-Hardman a scared look.

"Terrorists?" he repeated. "We are hunting a terrorist on his own turf?"

"For now, they're only rumors," Die-Hardman said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "In the absence of the UCA, they might think they have a chance at swaying the residents to their side. If you encounter them…" 

The man in the mask leaned forward, his eyes suddenly narrow.

"Prove them wrong."

Naoise gave him a long, hesitating look, glancing down at where the i-ris rested over his chest. He wasn't a hero, or a fighter. He was only a Porter, after all. But the UCA needed him. And he would have Arlen beside him.

He glanced back at Arlen, who still did his best to pretend they weren’t there. He was ready to pay the price of his freedom. He couldn't be less.

"Alright," he said, nodding towards Die-Hardman. "I'll do it."

"Very well," the man replied. "Take what you need from this terminal. The road will be long, and hard. But such is the road to victory. Good luck, Naoise Porter."

With that, the hologram vanished, as did Naoise's confidence.

* * *

Weapons, stun grenades, hematic grenades. Naoise hesitated, glancing at an assault rifle, until Arlen took it and pushed it into his arms.

"I don't want it to come to that," Naoise stated, examining the weapon.

"If it comes to that, kid," Arlen grunted, "you'll have to."

With that, Arlen let go of the rifle, forcing Naoise to hold it. It was heavier than a non-lethal weapon. The lead and the gunpowder weighed down on his conscience.

The elevator blared once more, and two bikes emerged from the depths of Capital Knot. Naoise recognized his own - the one that had carried them all the way from Port Knot, now fully repaired, as well as another, fully black one, with batteries where the cargo usually would have been.

"It's a good idea to have a long-distance bike with you if you're heading to uncharted territory," Mama's voice suddenly said from Naoise's cuff. "Hi again. I can provide some intel if you find yourself stranded. Be prepared for all contingencies, though: there's no telling of what you might find beyond the mountains."

"Thanks, Mama," Naoise said with a slight frown. He was so used to the silence that having voices coming out of his cuff was a weird experience. It felt less lonely though.

"Your fellow porter has a pair of cuff as well, doesn't he?" Mama asked.

"Yeah…" with hesitation, Naoise glanced at Arlen, who shot him a warning glare. The fact he was holding a non-lethal assault rifle didn't make him seem less menacing. "He doesn't like to have them connected, though."

"Oh," Mama softly exclaimed. "It's okay. I sympathize with the feeling."

Naoise raised a brow, but before he could say anything, another voice called from the terminal.

"Ah, so it's you two!" a hologram exclaimed. He was dressed with a Bridges' operary uniform, and glanced at Naoise and Arlen with a smile. "Sometimes I think an angel is truly looking down on us. First Sam, then you. I might pick up some old times' religion after this!"

"Hello!" Naoise greeted, getting closer to the man as he composed a friendly smile. "Are you Nick Easton?"

"That's the one!" he cheerfully replied. "I never property thanked you for saving us. A terrorist attack right at our gate… These guys are getting bolder by the minute."

"I was just doing my duty," Naoise mumbled, looking down at his boots. "But it wasn't only me. Arlen-..."

"Ah yeah, of course I know this grump," Nick said, looking over Arlen, who sorted his cargo. "How come you never told us you were a Hayes?"

"Because it's none of your fucking business," Arlen grunted. Nick snickered, to Naoise's shock.

"This guy's a riot," he explained, making Naoise give him a raised brow. "No, really, he's funny. You'll see, especially if you find some local craft beer…"

"How about you shut the fuck up, Easton?" Arlen finally said, standing tall with his cargo on his back. Nick chuckled

"Alright, sorry mister Legendary Porter, I'll stop." Then, he turned to Naoise. "You're growing to be kind of a legend yourself too, kid. I'm sure you'll do great on this. And with Arlen going with you… this will get interesting."

The terminal displayed a map of the surrounding area. Naoise recognized the streets of Capital Knot - his own turf since three years ago. Where his life had begun. Before the walls and the decaying buildings on the surface, it was all a blur. Before the team grabbed him from the edge of a crater that, in his mind, might have been the edge of the world.

"The order comes from mister Die-Hardman himself," Nick explained. "There's a couple of old waystations from the days before Bridges I - an old plan to expand the chiral network further south, abandoned when the expedition became a more urgent matter. You have to take your i-ris there and connect it. They will act as your first antennae."

The projection vanished, and Nick reappeared with a worried look on his face.

"After that, you're on your own," he said. "The sooner you find a bunker to connect to, the sooner we'll be able to know what's going on further down the line."

"Very well," Naoise said, tugging on his i-ris. He had never left the safety of the chiral network for such a long span of time before. The perspective made him nervous… If a bit intrigued. "Thank you, Nick."

"Wait," the hologram called, inhaling as if to gather strength for a final push. "There's a reason why I wanted to give you the briefing in person. You're a southerner, like me. My family came from further south. There are not many of us left."

He glanced at Naoise, smiling at him.

"When we found you it was like a little blessing in the middle of so much death," he explained. "A messenger from above, maybe. Then came Sam. And now we have Arlen to depend on as well. It gives us hope, people like you three."

Arlen stopped checking on the long-distance bike from a second, but refused to acknowledge Nick. Naoise blinked, taken aback. He didn't know Nick was part of the team of Porters who had found him. He didn't remember a great deal of things from that time.

"I-I'm…" he mumbled, but Nick raised his hand to stop him.

"Nah, it's fine," he said. "Just wanted to take it off my chest. Now go before I say more embarrassing stuff."

Naoise blushed, before nodding at the hologram. Nick nodded back, briefly saluting before his hologram vanished. And Naoise had the awkward feeling that people were thinking he might not return from further down south.

"Kid," Arlen called, already mounted on his bike. "Let's go."

After a brief hesitation, looking down at the rifle Arlen had given him, Naoise added it to the cargo at his back.


	3. The climb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, we begin.

Naoise sometimes felt like a quilt, rather than a person. He felt compulsions, sure, and most of the time he didn’t even know where they came from. He loved animals, and seeing them drop during the timefall made him sad. He liked the broad, open spaces between Knot Cities. He liked the sound of the timefall on the roof of a well-placed refuge. He liked the rush of happiness when a cargo arrived at its destination. It was thrilling, imagining someone being so happy about getting what they needed.

A quilt, made of loose pieces of fabric. Haphazardly stitched together to endure the cruel winter.

Whenever he tried to go back further than two years, his head hurt. A persistent migraine, a wall to his past. In a way, he had been alive for only two years. The other sixteen were lost to time. In a crater, in a voidout.

As the trike rushed across the empty surface buildings of Capital Knot, he remembered his life - whatever was left of it. The first, clear memories were of the medics, clad in red, asking questions. His release into a world he didn’t quite understand anymore - if he had ever understood it in the first place. The lessons, the admiration, the yearning for something more. For anything to fill the voidout inside, the crater in the middle of his heart, the pieces that were missing.

His first delivery, earlier that year. From Central Knot to Capital Knot. A few kilometers that made him feel alive. Real, after an eternity of nothing.

He remembered the streets like the back of his hand. He knew the road south. Burning into his memory as if it were the streets he grew in. In a way, they were. The buildings rusting away, the cool, saline breeze, and the pervasive petrichor smell, mixed in with the rusty, alien stench of chiralium.

When they reached the southerner distribution center, an hologram came out to greet them, waving as they passed by. He waved back as he headed towards the city limits, feeling a bit more cheerful already.

The Central Knot crater stared at them as they drove. Naoise felt his stomach churn, but drove ahead with lips tightly pressed. There were no roads anymore; all eaten up by the voidout. A couple weeks ago, Naoise had heard about Sam Porter’s accident. He was a repatriate - like him. He had never met him in person, but felt a strange kinship about him. It was refreshing, not feeling so alone. Knowing there was somebody else at the Seam.

The crater was impressive, but Naoise found himself numb to the pain. The lives lost were horrifying, for sure. But he had left Central Knot, never to return, falling in love with the call of the outside. And at the same time, he found himself at the edge of despair.

Uprooted, without a history. The voidout inside hurt more than the crater beside him. So he blinked and looked away, focusing on the narrow piece of dirt that surrounded it.

Further south, the first peaks of a mountain range began insinuating on the horizon. Like a giant, metal flower, a waystation faced the sky, defying the high, chiralium clouds. Even from that distance, Naoise could see the rust poking out of the joints.

There was an old, unused footpath - too steep for a truck, but good enough for a trike, and Naoise drifted to begin the way up. It had some mysticism to it… there was something magical about tracing the path of an old expedition. He remembered Nick’s words, and wondered if he had taken the same road when he had brought him to Central Knot.

“Shit’s busted,” Arlen noted, climbing down from his trike. Naoise blinked, then snapped his attention to him.

“Huh?”

“That shit,” Arlen commented, pointing at the waystation with a cigarette between his lips. “Busted.”

“Uh huh,” Naoise replied, as he climbed down from his trike as well. It was loaded with two heavy cases of ceramics and metal, so he took each with his arms before making his approach.

The waystation seemed to stand alone at the edge of the world. Behind it, the terrain climbed upwards violently, its peaks scrapping the upper atmosphere. Naoise had seen its higher edges from afar, but having them up front was rather scary. Clouds gathered above as he stopped at the terminal at its bottom.

The thing sparkled as it rose to meet him - Bridges’ jingle playing regardless. Naoise glanced at Arlen once, finding him staring holes at the terminal; curious, maybe, about what was to take place now.

Naoise pulled at the i-ris, feeling the chain at his neck, before thinking it over and passing it over his head. He took a deep breath - the cool, mountain breeze mixing with the saline air behind them. It was going to rain soon. The chiralium stench surrounded them. And Naoise put the i-ris on the terminal.

Light particles emerged from the machine, and Arlen took his cigarette from his lips as the light engulfed them both. The impression of thousands of voices, talking away in the void. Images of distant places, a sea of knowledge, and the strange, ethereal feeling of floating away at the Seam. Arlen's BB cooed, as he held his breath, and Naoise felt his eyes full with tears, flowing down his cheeks.

Then, it was over. Naoise's feet touched the ground again, and he realized the feeling of zero gravity was a little more than just a feeling. He blinked, as Die-Hardman's tune rang from his codex.

"Excellent work, Naoise," he said, stern as always. "However, we have detected a sudden raise in chiralium levels in the area ahead of your position. I advise caution: where timefall appears, BTs soon follow."

"Thank you, sir," Naoise replied, nodding. "We'll be careful."

As soon as he was done talking, static overtook the call. Thunder roared up ahead, and Naoise noted the day getting darker. He glanced up, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see the second waystation from down there.

Scattered remains of the corpse of a nation. When he turned, Arlen was inhaling the smoke from his cigarette, as he glanced up at the clouds. His expression as dark as the sky up ahead.

Naoise remembered something. His name, Arlen Hayes, and the fact he and Morrissey were partners. They knew each other since forever. Their bond was beyond being fellow porters. The strand binding them was stronger than whatever Naoise could imagine. Roots deeper than those of a mountain.

He looked down at Naoise, exhaling the smoke, and lowering his gaze at his BB.

"What you make of this?" he grumbled. The BB rolled inside their pod. "Alright then."

Without another word, he turned towards his trike, ready to proceed. Naoise glanced up once again, before doing the same.

"Well, those clouds sure are ominous," Naoise commented.

"I know," Arlen grumbled, discarding his cigarette.

"Do you think it's…?"

"Nah," Arlen cut him. "It's not his thing."

Abstent-mindely, he put a hand on BB's pod, as the being inside reached to put a hand on the glass as well. Naoise blinked, then nodded. Their connection was strong as well, he figured, after so many years of service.

"Alright," Naoise said. "Let's go, then."

The rain fell down on them soon after, as the day grew darker, and the silence grew deeper under the roar of their trikes. It was lonely, up the mountain. 

* * *

The road became treacherous, as the face of the mountain became steeper. Naoise stopped with a grunt, forcing his trike sideways on a tiny flat slope, facing an almost vertical cliff at his right, and nothing to his left.

"There's no road here," he announced, looking down at Arlen, who rested on another slope below. "We should try heading west."

Arlen blinked at him, surveying the road up. There wasn't a path across the slope, and the path that there was became too steep even for a trike. The timefall only made matters worse, as his trike rusted under him, and the mud slid from under his wheels.

"Don't give me that look," he called, as Arlen raised a brow his way. "I don't like the thought of going down either. But I don't see how…" 

Arlen made the wheels screech under him, chiralium mud spraying behind, before launching himself against the mountain wall. Naoise watched him zoom past, and upwards; his wheels catching on one of the rocks protruding out from the slope that impeded their advance. He had to look away, avoiding the mud spray, before Arlen forced the trike up with a jump, stopping at the slope and looking down now at Naoise.

"Keep the weight behind," he ordered, palming the trike's backside. Naoise blinked.

"Showoff," he grumbled, adjusting his trike against the mountain wall as well.

He soon realized that, without Arlen's head start, his trike wasn't as eager to cooperate. His speed went down to a crawl way before the rock Arlen used as a launchpad, and he was barely able to scrape the surface before his wheels started to give in to gravity.

The trike screeched under him, and mud sprayed up towards his face, as Naoise tried to force the vehicle up with all his might, but had to give a quick turn on the handle to stop his sliding down. He ended up panting in a precarious spot - one feet buried in the mud, and the other one up on the trike. He eyed the path down, where the prints of their wheels slid down with the timefall, and huffed.

Arlen was an indistinct dark silhouette above, almost like a BT, suspended over him. Naoise adjusted the cap under his hood.

Once again he drove up - mud spraying behind as he accelerated, eyes fixed on the slope and it's protruding, rocky edge. It seemed as if he would fall to the sky if he made the climb, as clouds ran fast from the coastal, familiar landscapes behind him towards the unknown. As he edged closer to the slope, he pulled on the handle and threw his weight back, raising the front wheels of his trike over the edge, locking them up.

Naoise grinned, accelerating once more. But the back wheel sprayed in vain, as he tried and failed to finish the maneuver.

"Ah, shoot," he sighed. One glance behind was enough to make his stomach turn. "Alright. Just…" 

The wheel struggled behind, but the trike refused to move. Arlen merely contemplated him from above, and from that distance he could see his face clearly. Still, his expression was unreadable… Yet Naoise suspected his predicament amused Arlen greatly.

He tried to remember the maneuver Arlen had done before. He had pulled the weight of the bike up with a jump - but without the extra acceleration it was a tricky business. Still, anything was better than to stay there, feeling Arlen's eyes on him, judging.

So he accelerated, and pulled the handle up. The front wheels, suddenly free from the rock, turned slowly in the air, as the trike advanced upwards once again. He was almost there… But the grip of the back wheel wasn't enough to compensate for his weight.

For a second, Naoise felt light as a feather. The bike under him might as well be the air under his wings. The vertigo of space overcame him, and his stomach churned as he started to realize he was falling. Panic settled, and he glanced at Arlen, who pierced him with his intense glance.

But it was only a second. Naoise felt the shock of the impact, and closed his eyes as he recoiled into himself. But the fall never came; when he opened his eyes, Naoise found Arlen's gloved hand on the top of his trike, forcing it down to the ground.

"Keep moving," he ordered. Naoise accelerated.

The trike moved up, and Arlen jumped out of the way as it landed up the slope. Naoise slumped on top of the handle, panting and trembling. He had never, ever gone off the road before. Being a trailblazer wasn't his thing. He was a Porter, for fuck's sake, not an explorer.

Arlen, however, seemed well used to the task at hand. He breathed in, letting the air out slowly.

"Never stop moving, kid," he said, climbing back to his own vehicle.

Naoise nodded, still clinging to the trike for dear life.


	4. The threshold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know BT zones used to make me extremely anxious?

The rain was a curtain of darkness in front of them. Each agonizing mile towards the top pulled them closer to the endless void above the chiral clouds. Towards the ever-blinking, gentle stars. Naoise wondered if the mountain would tear down the veil over the world, revealing the universe of never-ending possibilities behind.

Following now Arlen's lead made it seem easier than ever to take off towards the unknown. He weaved the path ahead, just like back at Port Knot City, with unparalleled grace. Some instinct, some lost knowledge about the world made him seem like a born explorer. And Naoise couldn't help to remember what Die-Hardman had said about him.

Arlen was a mystery that didn't invite being solved. Always stoic and silent, except when he wasn't. One of the few survivors from one of the worst tragedies post Death Stranding, or so Naoise had heard. Yet he seemed always calm and in control… While out in the wild.

Despite Arlen being very well able to overpowered him, as he had already proven back in the cave, Naoise felt a strange kinship about them. Born from tragedy, thrusted into a wild, incomprehensible world without mercy. And even if he had no way of knowing if Arlen felt the same way, he hadn't let him die yet.

He could've let him fall. He could've let him wither and waste away in anemia. He could've let him to the MULE's mercy. And yet… 

Arlen stopped his trike, climbing down and kneeling behind a large, protruding rock. Naoise noticed they had reached a summit, and that the dark, tall shadow above him wasn't another slope to climb, but the waystation they were there to activate.

Naoise stopped the trike, joining Arlen as he observed. Something about the empty top of the mountain, lashed by the merciless wind, sent chills down his spine.

"What is it?" he mumbled. Arlen frowned, pointing at the old, almost erased footpath that reached the waystation's terminal.

"Too much chiralium," he observed. Naoise noted the huge, grasping crystals all around the road.

"I don't feel anything," he mumbled, surveying their surroundings. No drifting shadows, no allergic chills. "If there were BTs nearby, they're not home right now."

"Why would they gather here?" Arlen wondered out loud. Naoise cautiously shrugged.

"Maybe they followed a group of explorers," he suggested. "Some of them are very persistent."

"Maybe," Arlen grunted. He went back to his trike, glaring at the chiralium clouds above. "Take it slow. I don't like this."

Naoise didn’t like it, either. But it was his duty, and he had learned that he didn’t have to like it. He had to make it.

Their final ascent was slow, deliberate. Naoise glanced around, but no shadow came to greet him. Plants grew, flowers reaching to the skies, then withered and dried and died quietly on the ground. Below, the endless, grey sea was barely visible under the merciful veil of the rain and fog. The view would’ve been beautiful, had not insinuated the loneliness, the pervasive isolation all around them. The voidout craters sprung like perverse flowers all around them. The dark reality of the world fell down like the timefall.

As they climbed down from their trikes once again, protected by the unstable roof of the structure, Arlen stayed behind, assault rifle at hand, and nodded at Naoise to continue. The younger Porter advanced towards the terminal - sparkling and moaning as it raised up to meet him. Once again, Naoise took the i-ris from his neck in an almost reverent gesture, placing it on the terminal, and waiting.

The voices, the sounds, the images, flashing before his eyes as he floated in the endless expanse of space. Tears streaming down, as landscapes, both familiar and strange, appeared and vanished all around him. Arlen glanced over his shoulder towards him, contemplating as well, as his eyes watered up, and he hastily cleaned the tears. The chiral echo was up.

“I’m gonna make a generator,” Arlen mumbled. Naoise’s codex lit up, and he held up his wrist.

“Excellent work,” Die-Hardman celebrated. “Now, we can survey the surrounding area with ease. Your cuff will be upgraded with all the new information. I hope you know, Naoise, that the work that you have done already will be invaluable in aiding us in our purpose. To bring America back together.”

Arlen shot Naoise a glance, but kept on supervising his CCP. Naoise eyed him as well, but focused on his superior talking.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. “It means a lot to me. To us.”

A red light lit up on his cuff, and Naoise looked dumbfounded for a second. The image on the codex turned fuzzy as well, and the sound cut down.

“Naoise,” Die-Hardman called, suddenly serious. “The chiral levels on your position are-... timefall-...”

“Sir?” Naoise replied, adamant.

“The-... reports say-... you-...” the lights dimmed around them, and Arlen looked up to the sky, as his CCP stopped building. “BTs are-... be careful-...”

Thunder roared above, and the lights finally went out. And Naoise felt a known chill down his spine.

“Shit,” Arlen called, stepping back as his odradek lit up, and his BB let out a confused ‘huh?’. Naoise turned, as the day grew darker, and the rain grew heavier.

Lightning hit a nearby mountain. And Naoise saw the drifting silhouettes, endlessly floating, suspended between this world and the next.

“That’s a lot of them,” he mumbled, as Arlen slowly stepped backwards towards the terminal.

“No shit,” he grumbled, rifle up.

They were trapped, Naoise realized. The building was barely a metal cylinder reinforced with chiralium. Their only way out was across a barricade of BTs.

“Ok,” he breathed in. “I’ve done this before.”

Not with his new weapons, he reckoned, but he had some experience sneaking away from BTs in the past. Arlen shot him an incredulous glance, but he ignored it. The more he thought about it, the more scared he would become.

“Let’s grab the trikes,” he suggested. “We do baby steps - a little at a time. We stop to clear the road every once in a while. All the way out of BT territory.”

“The road’s downhill,” Arlen mumbled. “That’s gonna suck.”

“Yeah,” Naoise admitted. “It will.”

As quietly as they could, both Porters got closer to the entrance. The faceless figures drifted aimlessly in the wind, but Naoise noticed their ever so subtle turn towards them. Arlen raised his rifle, but Naoise put a hand on his arm, making him recoil and give him a warning glance.

“Sorry,” Naoise mumbled, lowering his hand. “Let me.”

After a brief eye contact, Arlen nodded, letting Naoise ahead. He grabbed one of the hematic grenades, and briefly closed his eyes. It stung, the way it made his blood drop. But it was the only way.

So he threw it at the center of the BT group in front of them, covering the air in a crimson explosion. The screams of the incorporeal beings made Naoise shudder, looking away, clenching his teeth.

“Alright, go,” he ordered.

They mounted without another word, and drove through the bloody mist. Naoise glanced around, noticing the figures drifting closer, curiously, as they drove around the waystation. The splatter of their steps, the handprints on the floor, made him shudder.

Arlen stopped for a moment, shooting his odradek, and Naoise clenched his teeth. Then, Arlen pointed at a downward slope with the faint, vague suggestion of a road, coiling into the mist below.

“There,” he announced. Naoise nodded, and went driving down ahead.

BTs were always disturbing. Naoise had noticed back in the cave and he noticed it now; how they floated, aimless, without a worry in the world. How their passivity made them even more terrifying. One could make the mistake to think them brainless, to hold the belief that their danger was merely about chance, and opportunity. But as the faceless heads turned at their slow driving, Naoise knew better than that. They hunted. They grasped. They yearned.

He had never, however, avoided them into mist. As the road vanished ahead, he tried to keep his eyes on the figures all around them, but they melded together with the white void that consumed it all. He narrowed his eyes, forcing his senses -his Dooms- to pierce the veil in front of them. The pins and needles on his skin screamed danger from every direction. The BTs moans filled his mind with dread.

Another shot of the odradek, another sting on Naoise’s memory. He had never been around an odradek for so long. He had always avoided them. He remembered the rain - heavy rain, timefall consuming all. He remembered the clack of an odradek, a pulse. He remembered the tingle on his skin. The moans. The odradek. The hands. The odradek.

Screams. An explosion. The endless ocean of the Seam.

“Kid!”

Naoise saw the tree trunk at the last second, drifting into it, precipitating a rain of dry leaves and water droplets over his head. His trike buzzed in protest, as he hit his arm on the trunk, and felt his leg squeezed between the vehicle and the sturdy, wooden monolith. He gasped, scared, until he realized the cargo rake had bent into the wood instead of his leg. He had been lucky. But he had been clumsy.

He glanced at Arlen, who looked at the road below instead of him.

“I’m sorry, I-...”

“I’ll take it from here.”

Naoise wanted to protest, but Arlen drove past him, following a narrow slope down, between the trees. With a sigh, Naoise followed suit.

Dark figures appeared in the mists, and it took Naoise a moment to see if they were BTs or more of those thick, tall trees. He vaguely wondered if the trees grew so large because of the timefall, or if they were somehow immune to its effects. In any case, they were formidable obstacles - even for Arlen’s trained eyes and trusty odradek.

He drifted, avoiding a collision like Naoise’s, as he turned towards the east to find another way. Naoise followed, noticing the road seemed narrower and narrower the more they advanced. BTs seemed more numerous too; closing in on them, tracking them down. Hunting. Grasping. Yearning.

Suddenly, Arlen stopped, and Naoise had to do the same. He noticed the shadows between the trees, barely visible in the mist. But he also noticed the cliff they now faced. They were trapped.

Arlen climbed down his trike, assessing the cliff’s height. He waved at Naoise, pointing down.

“How much,” he inquired. Naoise stopped looking around nervously to glance at his cuff.

“About twenty meters,” he announced. Arlen nodded.

“Grab a staircase,” he instructed. Naoise blinked.

“We’re leaving the trikes?” he asked. Arlen shot him a glance.

“Not an option.”

Confused, Naoise lay down a staircase at the edge of the cliff, making a steep climb. Arlen nodded, climbing back on his trike.

“Get back,” he ordered. Naoise glanced behind, where shadows lurked, and the splatter of a BT’s hand could be heard.

“What are you-...”

“Do as I do.”

Without a second to explain, Arlen raised the front wheels of his trike, going down the staircase with ease. He had to forcefully drift to a stop, getting out of the way quickly, and looked up at Naoise.

He wasn’t sure about it, at all. The staircase seemed too narrow, but Arlen had, somehow, made it all the way down anyway. What kind of sorcery could make a man so adept at finding a way forward? Naoise couldn’t tell, but he wasn’t that kind of man.

The splatter became louder, purposeful. So Naoise took a deep breath, climbing on his trike, focusing on the way down the staircase and on Arlen’s attentive gaze.

He managed to raise the front wheels of his trike, and to lock the hinder wheel on the track of the staircase. He felt the vertigo as he made his way down, thinking how in hell would he stop his fall now. It was fast - a rush of adrenaline directly into his heart. He could do it. He could do it. He could-

He felt it, before Arlen called out for him once more. He felt the chill on his left arm, the sudden climbing up of the pins and needles, up to his shoulder, down to his chest. He turned, seeing the dark figure reaching out for him. A faceless spectre. A desperate lover. A BT, embracing him with deadly arms.

It knocked him out of the trike, which lost stability, and fell to a suddenly liquid floor. Naoise heard a BB cry as he fell, splashing tar upon impact. Hands reached out to him, trying to drag him down to whatever early grave they needed him to be.

“Fuck!” he heard Arlen scream, as he scrambled to his feet, shaking the hands off. Arlen kicked the hands away from him, but they clung to the trike with malevolent persistence. “We need this shit!”

He palmed on his trike’s batteries, and Naoise understood, as he fought for his life, that without the generator Arlen had tried to build before his own trike wouldn’t have much life left. Even less so, now that he heard it sparkling and sinking below the tar sea.

“Climb!” he yelled, as he felt the hands grasping at his backpack, excavating a path to him like a dog. Arlen jumped at the tar sea, struggling to reach a prominent rock nearby.

Naoise reached for a slope at the opposite side of the tar pond, struggling against the hands’ irresistible grasp, but managed to pull himself up. He kicked the hands away, scrambling on his feet, and turning away from the tar pool. He saw Arlen doing the same, and without thinking, he threw another hematic charge towards the grasping hands that tried to drown him.

The dark, tar figures screamed, and vanished as the tar seeped into the ground. Naoise fell backwards at the rock, dizzy and sweaty.

The only sound was a BB's cry. That, and the drifting sounds of undisturbed BTs, hidden in the mist.

As he climbed down from the rock and walked towards Arlen, Naoise noticed he was sitting on his own rock, hastily cradling BBs pod between his arms. He was shushing and murmuring, as his BB cried in fear. Naoise had heard about BBs getting into autotoxemia without proper relaxation, and they were in no position to get adequate care for the poor thing out in the wild. So after a brief hesitation he climbed up to where Arlen was, kneeling in front of him, ignoring the drifting shadows around them and the busted trike he would have to leave behind.

_“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream,”_ Naoise sang, trembling and pale. _“I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam…”_

Slowly, steadily, BB stopped crying, opening their eyes and glancing at Naoise with curiosity. He smiled, reaching out to them, and putting a single finger on the glass of their pod.

_“But if I know you, I know what you’ll do,”_ Naoise swayed in place, in rhythm with the music inside himself. _“You’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.”_

BB blinked slowly, reaching out as well, placing a tiny hand where Naoise’s finger made contact with their pod, pouting slightly. The luminosity from their pod dimmed, and the blinking alert light vanished, back to normal parameters.

Naoise looked up, finding Arlen’s attentive eyes studying his face with a frown. He looked away.

“I screwed up. Again,” he mumbled. “Let me fix this mess, even if it's just a little bit.”

A brief silence in the middle of the storm.

“Don’t be stupid,” Arlen grumbled. Naoise snapped back at him, ready for the blow. “This road’s fucked up.”

He was looking down at BB, who contemplated him with their little hand still on Naoise’s finger.

“It could’ve been either of us,” he mumbled, still looking down.

Naoise blinked, then lowered his head. He felt his cheeks slightly warmer, but he was still as pale as before. He would have to remember to chew on a cryptobiote sooner or later.

“Yeah,” he murmured, as BB twirled inside their tank. “I guess it could have been.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Naoise sings it's Sleeping Beauty's "Once Upon a Dream" btw


	5. The night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Migraines are usual when you have Dooms, or so I've heard.

Naoise hadn't noticed the pulsing migraine until, suddenly, the sky cleared up. The muddy, cold sunlight below the high chiral clouds greeted them on a forest clearing, and Naoise sighed and hid his head behind Arlen's cargo. They were one trike short already. But at least they were out of the worst.

He only hoped they weren't heading from the pan and into the fire.

Timefall still poured outside BT territory, as weeds sprouted, bloomed, and then died as they drove between the trees. The forest still intrigued Naoise; there weren't many anymore, less so in timefall territory. There were exceptions - mostly evergreen trees and the like, as he had seen near the eolic farm. But not such as the ones around them. So tall, with broad, green leaves that littered the ground everywhere. It was like a fairytale forest, he thought.

However, there was little time to contemplate; as the light turned to golden, and Naoise noticed blessed rays of light stretching across the brief clearings beside them. It was a gorgeous picture. But it was also a warning.

Arlen stopped, humming as he glanced at the warm light as well.

“We gotta find a refuge,” he muttered. “Is your thing on?”

“My… thing?” Naoise replied, sitting up straight. Arlen sighed.

“The chiral network, or whatever the hell.”

Naoise nodded, checking on his cuff. It could read the terrain around, but no structures were visible aside from the waystation. He shook his head.

“Not yet,” he sighed. “We’ll have to wait until the storm passes.”

“Fuck,” Arlen murmured, glancing behind. Menacing clouds swirled and danced around the peak they were just leaving behind. “If shit doesn’t get clear soon, we’ll have to do some cleanup.”

“How so?” Naoise asked carefully. Arlen refused to look at him.

“We’ll have to get rid of the BTs.”

“All of them?!” Naoise exclaimed, laughing nervously.

“Yup,” Arlen replied, facing forward once more. “That, or our bike will be busted soon.”

Naoise opened his mouth, then closed it, and nodded. He remembered the Capital Knot incident - how their destruction of a bigger BT cleared the skies for good. But he wasn’t ready to face another one of those. Not now.

Arlen drove a couple meters down the mountain, driving over rocks and fallen branches. The sway was soft, almost imperceptible, but the world felt liquid, unstable all of the sudden. A persistent headache wormed its way into his head, and Naoise palmed at Arlen’s cargo with sudden urgency. The slope wasn’t as pronounced now, and stopping wasn’t hard, but still Arlen shot him a glare.

“Wait,” Naoise muttered. “Wait.”

He descended from the vehicle with little grace, supporting his weight on one of those huge trees. He held on to his head, clearing the blonde strands from his face, sticky with cold sweat. His stomach was empty, and yet tied on a knot all the same. He hadn’t felt that sick since back at the cave with Arlen - and he wasn’t moving then. Now, however…

With a convulse movement, Naoise bent over, heaving and trembling and sweating. He supported his weight on his knees, still leaning on the tree, and gagging in vain. There was nothing to return, and yet his stomach protested and turned until something burned and bubbled and Naoise spat down a bitter, thick substance.

He dropped to his knees, trembling and even paler than before. Then shook his head, using the tree to get up once again.

Arlen was looking at him, one eyebrow up. Naoise waved dismissively.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, mounting once again. “Just tired.”

“Sure,” Arlen replied, stern as ever. Naoise held onto his cargo, closing his eyes and hiding his face from the sunlight now.

“Keep going.”

He hadn’t noticed how fatigued he was up until now. The blood loss and the lack of rations was taking a toll on him, and even the slightest movement from Arlen’s trike made his stomach turn. But he needed to try and be strong. He had screwed up so bad up until now. He was almost taken by the BTs. He needed to step up his game - be better, for both of their sakes. Die-Hardman counted on him for the mission. He couldn’t disappoint him.

Arlen, however, did a sudden turn right, going parallel to the mountain instead of down. Naoise felt his stomach turn once more, but opted to throw a confused glance at the back of his partner. He seemed focused on something, as his eyes scanned their surroundings. Was he looking for a structure? An abandoned generator, perhaps? Anything to help them keep going?

“Ah!” he exclaimed, driving towards something straight ahead that Naoise couldn’t see. He sounded so… happy, Naoise found himself thinking.

Suddenly, the trees opened up on a huge clearing. Naoise glanced over Arlen’s shoulders, and felt his breath forcibly taken from him. A lake - fresh, transparent, clean water, rushed towards a narrow river with little cascades and sudden drops. Arlen drove around it, and Naoise could see their reflection, rushing towards an unknown destiny.

It wasn’t the lake, however, what Arlen had seen. It took Naoise a second to realize that the face of the mountain seemed cut by a knife in front of them; a huge cliff scratched the clouds above. And at the base of the cliff, yawning like a sleepy beast, opened up a cave, from where the river that fed the lake sprouted from the innards of the earth.

Arlen drove towards it, and their hoods beeped as they dropped once safe from the timefall. Naoise glanced all around them, then turned towards Arlen, who descended from the trike and stretched his back and arms.

“What is this?” Naoise mumbled. The trees seemed to grow even inside the cave, following the cheery path of the river inside the mountain.

“A cave,” Arlen replied, setting his cargo down. Naoise blinked, then shook his head.

“No, I mean-...” he cleared his throat, looking at Arlen with pleading eyes. “Why.”

“It’s almost night,” Arlen explained, sitting down on the ground with a grunt. “I ain’t going down a mountain at night.”

“Sure,” Naoise mumbled. He seemed adamant to make it down before the trike’s battery ran out barely a minute before.

Arlen, however, seemed strangely okay with their situation now. He rummaged into his backpack for a second, grabbing a couple protein rations, and opening the package of one.

“You should eat, kid,” he advised, nibbling on the protein bar. Once again, Naoise blinked.

“Okay,” he mumbled. Then, he realized he was still sitting on the trike like an idiot.

So he climbed down, sitting on the hard ground in front of Arlen, and grabbing one of his own rations. He wasn’t really hungry - rather the opposite, really. But he had to eat something. So he chewed on a piece, feeling his stomach rumble, rebel, and then, settle down. He barely registered how voraciously he ate the protein bar. It took even longer to realize Arlen was making sure he ate it all.

“How did you know?” Naoise suddenly asked. Arlen hummed, inquisitive. “That I needed to eat.”

“You people with Dooms always need to eat,” he rationalized. Naoise tilted his head to the side.

“You know a lot of people with Dooms, I assume,” he joked. Arlen got suddenly somber.

“Just the one.”

“Ah.”

Of course, he was thinking of Morrissey. His, as Die-Hardman had said,  _ partner _ . Naoise glanced at Arlen’s dog tags, barely visible under his overalls. His curiosity burned brighter than his restraint.

“Morrissey’s Dooms are truly impressive,” he commented, looking at the underground river. “I’ve never seen something like that before.”

“Hm,” was Arlen’s sole reply. Naoise took a deep breath.

“How did you two met?”

“Same foster home in Middle Knot,” Arlen grumbled, grabbing a can of Monster and opening it. Before chugging it down, however, he shot a glare at Naoise. “You have my file, Bridges.”

“Ah,” Naoise murmured, lowering his eyes. He was angry - no ‘kid’ now. “I thought you wouldn’t like me to read it. We’re together in this, after all.”

Arlen cleaned his mouth with the sleeve of his overalls, crushing the Monster can with his hands and discarding it into his backpack. Then, he lay down, supporting his weight on the rock wall behind him.

“I don’t give a fuck what you do with it,” he stated. “Everyone knows already, anyway.”

Without another word, he stood up, collecting fallen branches to make a fire. Naoise looked at him go; dog tags dangling as he moved. For a brief moment, he glanced at his cuff. Everything he wanted to know was there, within his reach. But he quickly shook his head, getting up and picking up branches as well.

“Want me to keep watch first?” he proposed. Arlen got up, looking at him. Despite his usual stoicness, he seemed surprised.

“I’ll go first,” he said, even if it sounded like an order. “You almost fainted already.”

* * *

Nights were always especially lonely. After some good hours of sleep, Naoise’s mind was clear from the fog of fatigue, but melancholy had a way to find him anyway. As he glanced at the still lake in front of the cave, he tried to keep the usual tangle of his thoughts at bay, sipping on a can of Monster. But caffeine had a way with his brain - both overstimulated and lacking enough stimulation.

The landscape was beautiful, yet haunting. The timefall hadn’t stopped since they had taken refuge in the cave, and the swirling, dark clouds seemed to indicate that there would be still hours before the sky cleared. Naoise still felt the BT’s body trying to get him; the cold, chilling embrace of the other side. It reminded him of the Beach, which he thought adequate. They belonged there more than him.

He liked to think his first memories were of his rebirth -beside the crater that had taken everything from him-, but it was a merciful lie he had convinced himself to believe. For his first memories were of the vast emptiness, the cool breeze, the heavy breathing of the waves on his ears. The Beach he had learned to traverse, to the point he barely even registered as he jumped from location to location.

The lake at night reminded him of it, in a way. Or maybe he was always with one feet on the sands, where he should’ve stayed if the world still made sense.

There was one more thing, though, about his memories. He remembered a sudden immersion; the freezing cold water of the Seam stunning his movements. And a pervasive feeling of loss; a loss more terrible than anything he had ever experienced since. Whenever he tried to think about it, a terrible headache overtook everything else, pulsating behind his eyes like the worst of migraines. He could feel the beginning of one now, so he forced himself to look away from the lake and its melancholy.

To distract himself, he checked on his cuff, sighing once he realized there wasn’t a stable connection yet. He could, however, access old files already downloaded into his device, so he browsed whatever new files he could get.

First on the line, Arlen Hayes’ file awaited to be opened. Naoise bit his lip, considering the possibility.  _ Arlen Hayes _ seemed like a completely separate entity than the man he now traveled with. A man who thought he would open the file anyway.

Why did he resent Bridges so much? Would the answer be hidden within the life of the man named Hayes? Would Arlen ever forgive him if he did? Did he even care what Arlen thought of him?

To that last question, he forced himself to answer honestly. For he cared what the stoic “Legendary Porter” thought of him -  _ deeply _ so. He wanted to prove to him he was able to survive as a Porter without his help… even if he had been doing quite a bad job so far.

Perhaps he was trying too hard to prove something to someone who didn’t care what he did. Perhaps satiating his curiosity wouldn’t be such a huge transgression as he thought it would be. Still, he eyed the file intensely, doubtful.

“God’s sake,” he mumbled, backing up from the page. He couldn’t do it. Even if the file danced in front of his eyes, taunting him.

That wasn’t how he would keep himself entertained. But there was his own file, right beside Arlen’s.

There was nothing new for him in that file. The same picture as always, with the same blue eyes that stared back at him in the mirror. The same golden hair, with dark, rich brown strands in between. The same skin - too pale, with a soft yellow undertone. Perhaps if he weren’t so prone to fall headfirst into anemia, his skin would’ve been easily tannable.

Then there were the transcripts; more of the same blank spaces he found so fascinating, yet worrisome. His file might not contain anything new for him, but it was a mystery of its own.

The ‘Personal Effects’ table on his file listed a Bridges’ cap, his blue uniform, and his standart backpack - all his life summarized on the small square inside the file. But one thing was listed; one he would've forgotten already, if he didn’t force himself to give it more importance than what he would’ve rather held for it.

He perked up from the wall, turning off the cuff projection, and rummaging into his overalls with a wrinkle on his brow. He retrieved an old picture, blurry because of the passage of time and timefall. On it, two persons stood side by side, close enough to be intimate, yet far enough to be chaste and propper. Naoise studied, like so many nights before, the faded traits and colors and glances.

The woman was tall; taller than her companion, and he had already noticed how alike they were. She was pale, and blonde, and the eye that had survived the decay of the picture was of a clear, icy blue. Her expression was calm; or perhaps the face had faded enough to eliminate any semblance of strong emotions from her face.

The man, on the other hand, had a tanned, olive skin. He was skinny and kind-looking, with deep, probably brown or black eyes. His hair was wavy and wild, and Naoise coiled a strand of wild, haylike hair on his finger, producing a perfect, bouncy curl that slowly unraveled to fall, heavy with mud and chiralium, back to frame his absorbed face.

They were his parents, or so he thought. So the medical team that had treated him thought as well, so he was inclined to believe it. But the image inspired no filial affection, no gut wrenching hurt for their loss. They had been killed minutes before his new life had begun. Even if he  _ knew _ he should care, he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

But the picture obsessed him nonetheless, as the wear and tear on the image illustrated more clearly than any half-baked memory. The proof he was more than a tapestry, that he had been, once, complete. He could see his eyes on hers. He could see his hair on his. Their union had sparked life, and they had been, once, the world to him. Even if they were now two strangers.

Their images didn’t evoke terrible memories, but rather soothe Naoise’s tired mind. Instead of edging closer to the mystery, he lay comfortably on its outskirts, enjoying the shade of a cursed grove he dared not to enter.

It was better that way, he thought. For now, it was better that way.

* * *

The cool, sharp breeze danced right in front of his eyes. Invisible, yet caressing. Like an old lover, contemplating his dreaming with reverent awe.

Arlen inhaled sharply, opening his eyes with a startle. The low, swirling clouds moved in with the breeze; vessels hailing from shores unknown. He sat up, recognizing the place with dull worry. For some reason, his feelings felt muted, incoherent. Irrational.

His eyes caught something in the air, floating above the grey, shifting sea. And he stood up, contemplating the figures, curled up on themselves, of beings of old. Always watching. Always waiting. Five figures; forever slumbering, until the time was right to rise again.

The flapping of a heavy, leather cape made him look down, towards a dark, hooded figure standing alone between him and the sea and the figures. They seemed to contemplate as well - thoughts drifting like the clouds above them.

Arlen couldn’t help it; he stepped up towards the figure, a silent yearning threatening to split his heart in two.

“Why,” he asked, vehemently. The air struggled to leave between gritted teeth. “Why are you doing this.”

The figure perked up, and the hood slid off their hair. Curly, auburn hair, with white stripes at each side, framing a hidden face. Arlen felt his eyes glued to the figure, as he dreaded more and more the moment he would contemplate the person in front of him. Between him, and eternity.

He caught a glimpse of a handsome, delicate profile; full lips parted, inviting.

And he sat up in the cave, head spinning, fever breaking.

It took Arlen awhile to realize where he was, and where he was not. Up until he found Naoise’s shape - softly cut against the darkness of the night. He calmly contemplated something in the distance, as the sky cleared, and aurora began to break. But not yet, not in a while. Darkness still lurked inside the guts of the earth, as Arlen cleared the cold sweat from his forehead.


End file.
